THE SEASON FOR FRUITS

A merchant on Stockton Street in C’town was prizing her wares at the top of her lungs. She need not have bothered – her stuff was selling like hot cakes – but it was probably instinctive behaviour. Certainly it did no harm to yell out how screamingly excellent the product was, and it likely even encouraged the frenzy around her crates.
Men and women scrambling like mad, desperate for a purchase.
A horde of rabid piranhas with a sweet tooth.
She was selling strawberries.


士多啤梨 SI-DO-PEI-LI

There is no real Chinese word for strawberry (草莓 tsou mui), as it is not native to China. It is nevertheless extremely popular, not only eaten fresh, but also utilized in wafers (威化 wai-fa), cakes (蛋糕 daan-gou), muffins (瑪芬 maa-fan), candies (糖果 tong-gwo), and cupcakes (蛋糕仔 daan-gou chai).

Explanation: 草莓 (tsou mui): straw berry. 威化 (wai-fa): 'domination transforms'. 蛋糕 (daan gou): eggy cake. 瑪芬 (maa-fan): 'agate fragrance'. 糖果 (tong-gwo): sugared fruit. 蛋糕仔 (daan-gou chai): eggy cakelet.

The first digraphemion (草莓) is a direct translation more commonly used by Mandarin speakers, and you will note that the second (威化) and fourth word (瑪芬) are in fact transliterations of the English terms, much like 'si-do-pei-li' itself, which though not originally from the Chinese world, is now very familiar to the inhabitants of Hong Kong, and very much appreciated. 
Nothing quite beats a thick slice of  士多啤梨蛋糕 with lots of  鮮忌廉 (sin gei-lim) whupped all over it.  Yummy!

Another fruit presently available is the cherry.


車厘子 CHE-LEI-JI

More or less literally "vehicular thousandth-fractional thingy", in which the last character functions grammatically, rather than imparting a significant component of meaning - not that any part of this term imparts meaning, really. It's strictly a phonetice reading. Remarkably, there already is a Chinese word for cherry: 櫻 (ying); the only context in which you might see it is 櫻桃批 (ying-tou pai), which alas is seldom found in C'town.
The word 櫻 is of respectable provenance, attested by ancient literature.
Che-lei-ji is a typical Cantonese locution, rather than Mandarin.
This fruit is also popular, but not used in as many ways.

I would've thought that cherries would have been a far better seller than strawberries, seeing as you can sit on your front-steps eating an entire bag and spitting out the pits, aiming at the pigeons. That would be a splendid way to while away an hour or so.
Cherries are far sweeter and juicier than strawberries too.
But perhaps the texture and fragrance make a difference.

I remember hunting for wild strawberries during summer, and climbing over walls to steal the red red cherries of our neighbors in Valkenswaard, as they would do when our drupes ripened.
Both seasonal treats bring back memories, and sweeten the season.

But there are three other fruits that I anticipate as fondly.


龍眼, 荔枝, 枇杷 LUNG NGAAN, LEI CHI, PEI PA

The longan (龍眼) and litchi (荔枝) ripen at roughly the same time, and for the past few weeks huge bags of succulent litchis have been available. Both fruits are similar to each other, having a skin or husk that separates fairly easily, translucent sweet refreshing flesh, and a pit within.
The "dragon's eye" (longan) is so named because it resembles an eyeball, having translucent flesh through which the dark pupil can be seen.
It is often used dried, in sweet soups and desserts.
Litchis are best eaten fresh.

The third fruit I mention, loquats (枇杷 pei-pa) will start maturing in a few weeks, right when summer turns miserably cold in San Francisco. Already little golden orbs can be seen on some branches, smaller than normal, among the green bulbs barely visible among the glossy leaves.

[Loquats were mentioned in two previous posts on this blog: The Right Season for Loquats and Gold and Grey.]

To my mind there is almost nothing more beautiful than clusters of ripened loquat, on a plate or surrounded by dark green leaves.
It is the only thing that makes frigid summers bearable.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

GOLD AND GREY

During July in San Francisco there are some evenings when even though it's foggy, the temperature is still pleasant, neither cold nor warm. This usually means that it has been exceptionally hot elsewhere - high temperatures inland pull moist cool air in from the ocean; as it rolls in, it turns grey and opaque.
I enjoy talking a walk with my pipe at such times, and often end up at the far end of a Nob Hill cul-de-sac which catches southern light, where the Bougainvillea blooms.

[Bougainvillea, more familiar to Spanish speakers as 'Trinitaria' because of the shape of the bloom, thrives on sunlight that hits south-facing areas. The flower itself is small and rather modest, what strikes the eye is the three-leafed collar surrounding it, brilliantly crimson or intensely purple.]

A woman lives there, on the ground floor. She is ancient, and I think it must be her building, because she has the garden, and there are trees there that have lived a long time. Some evenings she comes out and putters around, weeding, watering, or sweeping the little brick patio under her trees.
I observe from my perch beyond the fence, but I doubt that she has ever even noticed that someone is spying on her.

I first saw her a few years ago when I was scarfing down some snackiepoos at a Chinatown bakery. She sat at a table all by herself, with a cup of milk-tea and a slice of strawberry cake. She would fork a bite, masticate thoughtfully, pause, take a sip of tea. Then after another pause, fork another piece. It was hypnotic to watch.
She may have experienced that confection more thoroughly than anybody else could have, as if she sought to grasp the innermost being of the pastry.

I was somewhat worried that it was the only thing she would eat that day. She looked frail, crumpled, small. Her clothes did not betray any great resources, and she was old, old, old. There are many elderly women in Chinatown, widows whose husbands had worked hard all their lives, married late, then died barely into retirement age.
You have to wonder how some of those ladies survive - left alone with straightened circumstances and narrowed horizons, in a country whose particularities are still so foreign.

When the waitress came to take the empty plate, she asked "Ah-yee-ah, Pong-chai dim ah?" Auntie, how is kid Pong?
Oh good, the old lady is not alone in this world! There's some young relation named 'Pong', and she herself seems known in this coffee shop.

It was pleasing to hear that Pong-chai was quite well.

The next time I saw her she was slowly walking up hill, several months later. A medium-sized fluffy dog was trotting along behind her on a leash, stopping now and then to sniff the tree trunks. It hurked down to make a deposit, and the old woman waited patiently for it to finish. When I passed, she had bent down with an empty plastic bag and I heard her remark in amazement, "wah, Pong-chai..... kam do ge lah?!" Wow, so much?!?
Ah, so that's Pong-chai.

I too was amazed.
I didn't think he had it in him.
Capacity!


It wasn't until several weeks ago that I found out where she lived. She came out onto the patio before the sun set. The trees that gave it shade bore clusters of small orange-yellow fruit among the thick leaves.
Ripening loquats. Possibly her husband had planted the tree many years ago when they first bought the building.
Slowly, as if dreaming, she swept the bricks. Pong-chai ambled along behind her, giving every evidence of being a remarkably happy dog.

Then she put the broom aside, stepped over to one of the loquat trees and looked up, admiring the fruit. So golden, so softly glowing. Such pretty canary orbs in the green green shade, puffs of fog adding gauze to the scene.
Yes, truly beautiful.

Her face seemed softened despite her age.
That may have been the glow of slanting light, the haze, and the forty foot distance.
Or not.

"Ah Pong-chai, ney lai pui ngoh ah."

Obediently the dog stood up on his hind legs and held up his forpaws for the woman to grasp. The two of them moved gracefully, semi-dancing, over the bricks.
I don't know what antique melody still played in her mind, but surely her dog could hear it too - it stepped patiently, surefootedly, looking up at her the while.
They had obviously often done this before.

How wonderful for them to be such good companions.


I would like them to enjoy the bougainvillea and loquats together, at the back of their alley, for many more years.


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly: LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THE RIGHT SEASON FOR LOQUATS

There are fruit trees behind the houses in my neighborhood. They are lovely when looking toward the building on the other side where the young people party, especially at this time of year. Little bright canary-yellow flecks among large dark green leaves, drupes of a warm golden hue.


The first time I saw a loquat tree was in Berkeley, as such things do not grow in the Netherlands.
My neighbors had loquat trees, and in the heat of July and August it was exceedingly pleasant to sit in the shade of their garden, admiring the glowing orbs above. The clustered leaves of the loquats shattered the strong sunlight and created a patch-shadowed hollow that seemed timeless till even late in the day.

That particular summer I spent a lot of afternoons next door.

Their daughter once mentioned a man she had known a few years earlier.
The two of them had gone out together often while he was at U.C. Berkeley, but even though they seemed to have much in common, she never let the situation go anywhere. She had not felt that he was right for her - he was a bit too old, and not even a graduate at that. If she waited for him to complete his degree her own life would have been put on hold. Yes, he was a handsome man. Interesting, intelligent and kind, too. But there was that age difference!
Surely there is more to a serious attachment than just enjoying similar books and movies, isn't there? One has to be able to plan a future together, a commonality of progression. Degree, career, house.... children, car, mortgage. Old-age eventually, roughly in synch. Besides, stability and values are too at odds with being a student. Especially, being a student again.
It makes sense to get your education over with first, before thinking of love.
Less complicated that way, don't you agree?
And certainly more suitable.

She blinked and looked away before continuing. Despite being older than me she looked startlingly young at that moment. All pink.

They had dated for over two years when she cut it off. She had felt that things were getting too close to what she called a "real" relationship. And she knew that that wasn't what she wanted, not with him. Or at least not with a man who had decided to finish his degree so late in life. He was already in his thirties!
She admitted that she had taken the cowardly way out. When he went to grad school in Southern California (because a lab that he associated with was down there), she had deliberately let their correspondence slide, hardly ever spoke to him on the phone, and then pointedly changed subjects and talked of things and people that he could not know about. As time passed, phone calls became more and more inconvenient, strained even.
A family crisis was the pretext for relinquishing all communication, although at the time she indicated that it might be only temporary.
It was permanent.
Precisely as she intended it to be.
She went out to dinner a few times with someone they both knew.
Word reached her "ex" in Southern California, and they never talked again.

That had been over six years ago. She herself had already graduated, and was working in her field at an office in Oakland. She wasn't happy with her job, advancement seemed like it was too slow or not happening at all, and the field she was in was, let's face it, neither very interesting nor very meaningful. She was seriously thinking of going back to school to get another degree. She could work part time for a consultancy and pay her own way.
She was, finally, wondering what to really do with herself.


I don't think she wanted to admit it, but the man she used to know was on her mind. He had his doctorate now, and had been snapped up by a company in New Hampshire. It was unlikely that he would ever come to the West Coast again.
Well, maybe for conferences.
But probably not to live. His field was sufficiently intriguing to him that location would not mean much.
Then was then, now was now.
It felt like there were more years than ever between them.

What she had done was the right thing, of that she was still sure.
She liked living in Berkeley, and could not imagine moving to the East-Coast, ever.
She shuddered as she speculated about seasons there - sharply differentiated weather patterns, freezing in winter, hot and humid in summer. So limiting!
Her parents had moved out West to get away from that.
They had relatives back East they hardly even knew.
It was a very different place.

As she was talking, a small fruit fly circled her head. Finally, shaking her blonde hair with irritation at the pesky insect, she snapped "what use are these trees, if you can't even eat the fruits?"

"Oh, but you CAN eat them."

"What?!? I thought they were just decorative!"


Her parents had bought the house many years after the previous owner had planted the trees. They had never asked what those things were, and she had not wondered either. They were just trees, surely those colourful things which were NOT plums or apples or apricots were only for pretty pretty, like the poisonous berries on the bushes at the far end?


LOQUATS

The modern term in Chinese is 枇杷 (pei pa), which is probably a borrowing from an extinct Malayo-Polynesian language once spoken in Southern China (where the plant is native), long before the Han expansion. The characters are composed of two phonetic elements combined with the tree radical (木), and by themselves do not communicate anything. Only together do they have meaning.
Originally the fruit was called 蘆橘 (lou gwat). That, too, is a bi-syllabic construct, but each character does have its own significance: 'reed' plus 'orange'.
As fruit trees, loquats are unusual in that they flower in late autumn, produce fruit in early to mid-summer.
To eat them, one peels off the thin skin when the loquats are soft and ripe. What may look like rotten spots are often mere surface discolouration of which no trace remains in the flesh. They are sweet and aromatic, and can be used for lovely preserves.
Loquats are considered calming to the nerves, tonifying, and beneficial to the throat and lungs.
The seeds are large, comparatively speaking, and inedible.

[A well-known Chinese cough syrup (枇杷膏 'pei pa gou') contains loquats as a primary ingredient. It is described here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nin_Jiom_Pei_Pa_Koa. Some Cantonese opera performers use it to keep their throats healthy. It is available in every Chinatown, at both herbalists and regular stores. Along with 潘高壽 (pan ko sou: loquat and fritillary extract), you could do far worse for a tussive condition.]


Right now is when loquats are fully ripe in San Francisco. It is wise to harvest most of them soon - it's healthier for the plant to do so. And because they are sweet and fragrant, rats and birds will get at them if left too long on the branches. Plus fruitflies and ants.
Loquats are high in pectin - use the unblemished ones for jam, and the firmer specimens for little pastries.
Sweet warm fruit. There is no better season than the present.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly: LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================